Raging Tai
by Llyn
Summary: Taichi has a rule. Just one rule! But Yamato thinks rules are made to be broken. Taito. Yaoi. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon. Yaoi. Taito. Lime. Mature Sexual Content. This is inspired by a pretty great scene from the film _Raging Bull_, only with 100% more arguing.

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**Raging Tai**

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"Out."

"But Taichi—"

"Out," Taichi said, firm and stern, just the way he'd practiced in the mirror. No sex before a game, and especially no sex before the biggest game of his life. It mattered! His energy! Even if he hadn't seen his boyfriend in too long, even if Yamato only got in late last night, springing from the bottom step of his tour bus directly into Taichi's arms, even if he would be gone again by dawn tomorrow.

Then Yamato stuck out his bottom lip, shifting his weight to the side. Certainly he'd been practicing in the mirror, too, prepared for Taichi to resist. So, naturally, Taichi pressed the gorgeous, frustrating _thing_ against the door he was trying to kick him out of and took that wet bottom lip firmly between his teeth with a very stern growl.

"It's not fair," Yamato said when he broke off for air, looking as hurt as if he'd actually been tossed out into the hallway, instead of pinned to the door and slurped on. Still pouting, he tilted his head back in a silent request, Taichi knew, for bites. Grudgingly, Taichi gave Yamato the bites he wanted. Taichi even tried, in his resentment, to give him a giant, purple hickey worthy of his crime as a souvenir to take with him when he went. And he had to go. "I don't want to go," Yamato said, breathless, arms wrapped snugly around Taichi's neck.

"You have to go." Where? Anywhere, until Taichi was safely in the stadium where he could focus, all delicious blond thoughts far from his fluffy head.

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Yamato said, pushing him roughly across the narrow entrance way so Taichi slammed into the wall.

"Yes, you do. You _promised_," Taichi said, shoving Yamato back against the opposite wall, only to be shoved back a second later.

"You made me. Remember?" Yamato's eyebrow raised suggestively despite the fact that he had thrown his whole weight against a wriggling Taichi to try to hold him in place, "Remember how you made me, Taichi?" He said, leaning in with effort to drawl the succulent words in Taichi's ear, smirking when he gave up the fight with a helpless groan. Taichi remembered doing all kinds of things to Yamato last night, hoping he would behave himself in the morning.

"It's like the more I tell you we can't, the more you want it," Taichi lamented.

"And they say Koushiro's a genius," Yamato patted his cheek fondly, before pushing him back, back, backwards away from the door, until the back of Taichi's knees hit the hotel bed and he sat down with a huff, only to find himself with a lapful of Yamato a moment later as the undaunted blond crawled on top of him.

"We talked about this. You _promised_. My energy—"

"I don't remember talking," Yamato said, nuzzling against Taichi's stubbly cheek, another team superstition faithfully observed as Japan approached the end of qualifying, "I remember how this," he ran a tapered finger over the other cheek, guiding Taichi's mouth to his, "tickled my ass when you were—"

"Yama—"

"Fucking me—"

"Yama—"

"With your tongue."

"Have you always been this terrible?" Taichi asked, then flipped Yamato beneath him without warning. The blond laughed, delighted, his hair a fan across the pillow. He loved it when Taichi did that, "I'm serious, Yama," Taichi said, between kisses, "I'm not gonna fuck you again until after. It's qualifying."

"But I want to," Yamato whined, and there was that bottom lip again. Shiny and wet. Just like the blue eyes regarding him glumly, filled to the brim with crocodile tears.

"What's wrong?" Taichi asked, taking the bait despite himself as he traced the trembling lip with his finger.

"Nothing," Yamato said, unable to hold his gaze as he murmured, "Miss you."

"So cute."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," Yamato said, crossly, "It's just, I hate touring. Everyone's a dick. I think about you constantly. Like what would Taichi say? And what would Taichi do? It's pathetic."

"If you want to quit then quit."

"Okay," Yamato favored Taichi with a wolfish smile, "I quit. Let's celebrate."

"Nice try."

Yamato huffed. He rolled his eyes.

Taichi took pity on him in the form of holding down his arms to lap at the single, pink nipple revealed by Yamato's open shirt—which the blond still hadn't got buttoned after an hour of loud complaining. It had been such a difficult morning.

"Why don't you just," _lick_, "put on a hat," _lick_, "sneak down to the bus," _lick_, "and sleep all day," _bite_, "Then, when the match ends," _lick_, "and when your show's over," _bite_, "we'll fuck all night, until you have to go." Taichi released Yamato's nipple with maximum mental effort. It had turned from pink to red, much like Yamato's face.

"But I've never played the arena before," Yamato arched his back in a lovely, distracting way as he slipped all the way out of his shirt, "It's a big venue. I'm nervous. I need you to help me relax."

"A second ago you were quitting," Taichi teased, "Do you have a list of excuses hidden somewhere?"

"Nah," Yamato said, blowing the fringe from his eyes with an irritable puff, "I thought you'd break your stupid rule right away this time."

Taichi scowled, insulted. He'd never broken before in all the years Yamato had tried. Well, once. A couple times, actually. No more than five. But every match afterwards had been a disaster. As expected!

"_Mm_," Yamato seemed to agree, amiably enough. That's when Taichi looked down and realized he'd been absently rubbing circles over Yamato's pants, through which the outline of his dick was scandalously clear. He snatched his hand away as if burnt. Yamato groaned in disappointment, "Taichi, you could, I mean, if you _really_ don't want to fuck me—"

Taichi's mouth opened in protest. As if he didn't want to. He'd wanted to since he'd woken up that morning to find the blond lazily sucking his cock. Or, more accurately, since the humid Digital World night when he'd first stayed up to gaze fascinated at Yamato's sleeping face, stroking himself, convinced it was wrong, wrong, wrong, and so incredibly _good_.

"You could just get me off," Yamato suggested, hands already working the button of his pants to give Taichi better access.

Taichi batted the hands away, pinning them down to the mattress. Absolutely no way was he going to watch Yama come without him after the torturous morning he'd suffered. No, they were going to suffer together. Solidarity. Cooperation. Best fucking friends.

"I don't think so," he said, pretending to consider Yamato's plea, "No, that wouldn't work." He leaned down to kiss his captive, idly hoping Yamato might decide to suck his tongue—he hadn't had his tongue sucked on in too, too long—but he found himself kissing stiff lips pressed tight in a scowl. He opened his eyes to find Yamato glaring back.

"What?"

"Why wouldn't it work?" Yamato asked, voice ice.

With a gulp, Taichi stuck out a brave hand to pet his snarling boyfriend, hoping not to get bitten. Yamato's tone suggested the possibility. "I dunno," _pat pat_ on the sleep-mussed blond hair, "I mean—it's only fun when we both get off. Don't you think?"

"Gee, I wish you would've told me sooner. You know, since I nearly flunked out of high school with you dragging me behind the gym to suck your dick every chance you got."

"You're really good at it," Taichi offered with a winning smile.

"But Taichi, all those times—it wasn't any _fun_ for you because _I _didn't get off, too. Right?"

Taichi nodded solemnly, "That's right, Yama, but I let you do it anyway. I guess I just wanted to be there for you while you, you know, discovered yourself."

"God, you're ridiculous," Yamato toppled a laughing Taichi from on top of him and climbed long-legged off the bed.

"Yamato, wait. Okay, _some_ of the time it was fun for me."

"I'm leaving," Yamato said, trying to tug his crumpled shirt free from beneath where Taichi had landed, until Taichi grabbed hold of the other end and yanked, spilling Yamato of top of him.

"Don't go," Taichi said, spitting out a mouthful of blond hair as he circled his arms around Yamato's narrow hips.

"Taichi, you want me to go. Remember?"

"Oh, bummer," Taichi said, remembering, "You're right."

Yamato wriggled a bit, getting comfortable on Taichi's lap. And if, in the process, he rubbed his ass rather deliciously on Taichi's persistent and troubling hard-on, well, neither acknowledged it.

"If we win today," Taichi said, opting for sweet talk as he very gently rocked his hips against Yamato, "We're going to Russia for the cup, and I'll take you with me."

"Great," Yamato said, "Then you can _not_ fuck me in the frozen tundra."

"So high maintenance," Taichi said adoringly, propping himself up on an elbow to catch Yamato's hand in his. He turned it over to kiss the inside of his sensitive wrist, where blue veins criss-crossed under thin, white skin.

Yamato watched, eyes dark. He loved that nearly as much as he loved getting tossed around, and Taichi knew it. "You'd really take me with you?" he asked, softly.

"I've gotta have you with me or I'll freak," Taichi said with a grin.

"Better win your game today then," Yamato teased, finding Taichi's lips with a happy hum.

"Mm, guess so," Taichi said, growing frustrated with the suddenly inexplicable thickness of fabric between them, putting a damper on their languid grinding.

"Sure you don't want to get me off?" Yamato asked, voice low and sugar-sweet, running a hand under Taichi's t-shirt.

"Just the _thought_ of you getting off would get me off."

"We can kiss though, right Taichi?"

"Right."

Taichi suppressed a shiver as Yamato sunk his fingers into his hair, meeting his lips with slow, deliberate kisses. Yamato stretched out long beside him, one leg draped between Taichi's, and let their kisses turn hotter, open-mouthed, as he ground helplessly against Taichi's hip. Taichi trailed a hand down the slender back, tracing the curve of his spine. He paused, fingers toying with the waistband of Yamato's pants, sliding forward to undo the button, to pull the zipper, never breaking off their increasingly desperate kiss. Hand returning to the blond's ass, he pushed the fabric down to the tops of his thighs, exposing Yamato with such sudden force that the blond pulled away with wide-eyed surprise, before melting back into the kiss. Yamato moaned against his lips as he kneaded the soft, perfect flesh, bringing his other hand down to join.

"Fuck," Yamato breathed, after Taichi spread his cheeks to trail his fingers lightly up the crack, grazing his balls so that he felt the resulting twitch in his cock, now pressed hard at Taichi's side. And Taichi had to remind himself, even as he felt Yamato's tongue flick over his bottom lip in his maddening, teasing way, _don't fuck, don't fuck don't fuck_. But he couldn't help it, he had to slip his tongue into Yamato's mouth, to tangle with Yamato's, sliding over it, under it, playing games with no rules, until the blond's fingers, anchored in his hair, clutched tight, and Yamato pulled away, breathing hard, to lick Taichi's taste from his shining lips.

"I can't do this," Taichi said, tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Yamato's neck to tug him back into the kiss.

"_Taichi_," was the only response he got, as Taichi had shifted to press his own hardness, still distressingly covered, against Yamato's. He sucked beneath Yamato's ear until Yamato couldn't take it, squirming away with a quick laugh and hiding his face against Taichi's neck, letting out a cool breath there that raised the hair on Taichi's arms.

It was Taichi who sought out his lips again. Maybe he had a self-destructive streak, or maybe the blood had abandoned his brain, or maybe he couldn't let Yamato's whispered "Love you," go unanswered, but when the slim fingers untangled from his hair to trail down his chest and then his stomach, making quick work of the drawstring knot holding his warm-ups on, he didn't chase them away. And when the inevitable, "Taichi, your dick's so big," was murmured hotly against his ear, the best sentence in the world, as far as Taichi cared, spoken with a combination of smugness and surprise, every time, since the very first time, well, Taichi lost control.

He pushed into the hand wrapped around his length with a shuddering breath. He'd only been hard since waking up, he deserved this. Yamato distracted Taichi with his mouth, dirty nonsense spilling freely, Taichi this and Taichi that, all while he covertly pressed himself closer, taking them both into one hand to stroke together.

"_Yama_," Taichi realized it was too late, then caught Yamato's bottom lip—the wicked, wet one that was to blame for this whole mess—and bit down hard. Yamato let out a whine of pain, but his hand sped up until the friction between their dicks left Taichi no other option but to squeeze his eyes shut and think desperately of football, football, yes, fuck, oh god, no, football.

Yamato wrapped his lips around his tongue and, very gently, sucked.

"Fuck! No, no, no," Taichi scrambled up off the bed, struggling out of the tangle of his warm ups. He made it to the bathroom, then—struck with an idea, ran back out to the hotel room's nook kitchen to grab the ice bucket. A cold shower wouldn't be enough, not now.

"Taichi?" he heard, from another world.

"Can't," Taichi said, voice choked, not even daring to look toward the bed, messily dumping ice from the bucket into the plastic water pitcher. He heard—politely muffled, he supposed, by a pillow—Yamato finish by his own hand. He could imagine it, breathy and incredible, back arching, flushed and shaking and saying his name, eyes hazy and come hot from his beautiful dick. _No, no, no, stop._ Taichi had barely caught it in time. Again. He stepped into the bathroom, flicked on the harsh, humming lights, and shoved the pitcher under the sink, turning the cold tap on full blast.

Then he waited for it to fill up, hands resting on his head, while he breathed.

Yamato appeared in the doorway. He looked like an angel. Well, his cheeks were pink, and his eyes were bright, and his hair was golden and wild, but he was also half-hard and glistening with his own come, and was staring in open-mouthed shock at the scene unfolding in the bathroom, so, Taichi granted, looking away from his lover to turn off the tap, he _kind of_ looked like an angel.

"Alright," Taichi said to himself, carrying the pitcher careful as a landmine as he stepped into the bathtub, "Courage." He dumped the ice water onto his dick. Is that what it feels like to be struck by lightning?

After a long, long, long time, Taichi opened his stinging eyes again. He pulled a towel from the rack to wrap around his waist, then sat on the edge of the tub, blinking. He looked up to find Yamato still frozen in place at the doorway, wincing in sympathy.

"Oh, Taichi," Yamato slowly lowered his hands from his face, where, Taichi assumed, they'd flown up in horror, "Yikes."

"Fuck you, Yama," Taichi said, voice weak.

Yamato gave him a wry smile, "Almost."

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**Epilogue:** _World Cup Finals, Moscow, 2018_

"Out."

"But Taichi—"

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**A/N:** Fin! Please review &amp; favorite if you liked it!


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